Death isn't painless

                 “Death isn’t painless”. Even as a ninety-one-year-old woman sits gently tapping on death’s gate no, there is surely an aching that slowly grows in intensity with every rapping. As her knuckles tenderly meet an ancient oak door grime darkens her hands. They said her sickness was childhood news sneering while they explained “Predispositions” to her family. As if an explanation was going to catch her daughter’s tears or read her great grandchildren to slumber. Her passing brought on a hopelessness that seemed to encompass all God's creatures. The birds sat in silence while the Texas sky scorched in defiance, refusing to cry the sun set them on fire. As the earth slowed her up the sun went down as if to admit defeat likewise, despondent footsteps slowly made their way to shelter. Hiding behind closed door they wept for her while in vain their tears persisted. The years showed no remorse mocking our fond recollections with untimely endings of others. It has been five years and the house she called a home is unrecognizable now her glass menagerie long since sold and packed away along with countless innocent memories. In its place stood granite countertops, a mounted flat screen, and the wall that once separated the entertaining room from the sitting room had vanished. Even though her mark was taken out of the house her essence remained resonating within us at night and reminding us that our happiness was only temporary and death would be for us soon.